IN HONOR OF THE NATIONAL SPELLING BEE

in now-defunct personal blogJune 2, 2006

Once you misspell a word in a spelling bee, you never forget it.

Mine was “amity.”

Granted, it was only a school spelling bee, and I came in fourth place so the scars aren’t quite as prominent as a national spelling bee loser’s. Still, I remember the tension I felt between the last letter I uttered and the bell that signaled my flub. Mr. Cremins, the fifth grade teacher who rattled off words with dramatic flair, frowned when he noted my error. He had hoped my sister and I would proceed to the regional spelling bee and eventually to the national spelling bee, much like some sisters from years before.

“A-m-i-t-a-t-e,” I had said. I spelled it like he pronounced it.

I slumped off the stage and renounced bees for life. That was my last spelling bee attempt, and I refused to take the stage again. I had a disastrous placement in the geography bee, and I refused to take part in the speech contest despite my teacher’s insistence.

I think my sister went on to win the school spelling bee that year. She eventually made it to the New York State spelling bee – the competition right before nationals. My brother also made a trip to the state spelling bee some years later and placed sixth.

His word? Radicchio.

His eighth-grade class had taken the morning off to watch him compete and lose. To add insult to injury, the judges played back his misspelling for everyone to hear, just for good measure. Just to verify his obvious loss. On the way home he cried. Had he won, my parents would’ve bought him a computer.

* * *

Though I can’t seem to spell under pressure, I’ve always been a stickler for spelling. I used to watch my dad drill my brother with obscure words in preparation for competitions. Sometimes he misspelled words, and I corrected him.

C-h-r-y-s-a-n-t-h-e-m-u-m. My dad would scoff at my brother and say, “See, Karen can do it!”

To this day I point out AIM profile errors and lose respect for a writer once I catch a mistake. Well, perhaps “lose respect” is too strong an expression. Let’s just say the writer loses some credibility. Regardless of how well you may write or spin words, a misspelling – to me – shows a lack of commitment to your work. I mean, how hard can looking up a word be? M-W.com. Try it.

But I’m just a little hypocrite, I suppose. Today I proofread a story five times and glossed over a misspelled word an equal amount of instances. An editor even circled it for me, but I couldn’t figure it out.

Is it incorrect word choice? I asked.

No, she answered. “Identities” is spelled wrong.

Suddenly the memory of my spelling bee loss flooded back, and my eyes welled up with tears. I hid my face from the editor, whose eyes were fixated on the computer screen. After I regained composure, I said, “Oh,” turned on my heels and slinked back to my desk.

Today I added “Identities” to my list of unforgettable words.

Blogger’s note: All of the above is true. Except for maybe the “Identities” part. Like I’d ever misspell something. Ha!

Blogger’s second note: Okay, I really did misspell “Identities.” But I didn’t cry about it. I just thought it would add an awesome climax.